


Ghosts of Christmases Past

by littlemouseinapartyhat



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, How Do I Tag, and put in a million new characters, but I quite like how this is going, i made up a lot about people’s lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28301106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemouseinapartyhat/pseuds/littlemouseinapartyhat
Summary: The ghosts don’t like Christmas and Alison soon learns that they all have good reasons. As does she. But Mike is determined to make this Christmas perfect for everyone: dead or alive.10 flashbacks to Christmases during everyone’s lives and then finally the ultimate Christmas as organised by Mike.
Relationships: Alison/Mike (Ghosts TV 2019)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 73





	1. Christmas 1992 - Julian

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I’d had this idea prior to Christmas but it’ll have to be over the next week or so until New Year. I haven’t written fic for 5 years, and I’ve never written seriously. So enjoy!! XD  
> (Also,, for this chapter in particular: 10 points to anyone who can guess my political affiliation and general opinion of the likes of Julian...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// alcohol mention, food mention

“Here’s what I said to her, here’s what I said. I said: ‘Listen, missy, if it weren’t for my kind little women like you wouldn’t even have the right to vote: let alone be sharing the House of Commons with the likes of me!’” 

Raucous laughter erupted amongst the men and a smug smile took over Julian’s face as he waggled his finger in an impression of himself. 

“Who does she think she is?”

“It’s no wonder her party’s been out of power for a decade!"

Julian chuckled at the response his story had provoked in his fellow MPs and took a long swig of his whiskey. As he placed his drink back on the table beside him, his shiny gold wedding band clinked against the glass. He paused and studied the ring for just a moment, slowly turning it with his thumb, before straightening back up in time to snicker at a joke he hadn’t heard. 

Once the conversation had died down, Julian turned to face the dance floor that took up the centre of the room. Conservative Christmas Eve parties always got rowdy but, after a difficult year of political conquests, most were glad for an opportunity to let their hair down. 

Hundreds of politicians, staff, friends, and family filled the over-decorated hall of the manor house, many of whom were twirling wildly across the wooden dance floor. Some others gathered on chairs in front of the roaring antique fire, some huddled in corners still debating the intricacies of various policy points, most milled around the edges of the room engaging in friendly festive conversation. 

Julian was shuffling his way through the crowd in search of another drink when a nearby conversation caught his attention. A group was gathered around a small television in the corner of the room beside the towering Christmas tree.

“Look at those berks!” A man cackled. “Leftie MPs really are a different breed.”

“And they look so happy? Weirdos!” Someone else chipped in. The group’s laughter ricocheted around the room causing heads to spin in their direction. 

As Julian approached, a voice from the crowd called out to him: “I say, Fawcett! You’ll love this one!” Julian slipped his way into the group’s small circle, being careful to dodge the drunken dancing party-goers, and focussed his gaze on news broadcast on the TV.

On-screen, twenty or so men and women wrapped up in thick winter coats manned tables piled up to their necks with food. Others meandered between the tables speaking quietly among themselves, filling their baskets with tins and boxes. 

A soothing rendition of Hark the Herald Angels Sing played in the background of a news anchor's reporting. The small church the people were gathered in was lit entirely by the soft glow of candles, apart from the modest Christmas tree covered in decorations clearly handmade by children. 

Julian’s eyes scanned over the headline: ‘MPs gather to help Manchester food bank’. He felt a bark of laughter bubbling up within him.

“Spending Christmas Eve at a northern food bank? Can’t think of anything worse!” He jeered. “Didn’t know that kind even knew about Christmas dinner? Pie and chips on the sofa of a council house is more their speed, I imagine.” 

The group gave off a monstrous cheer and clapped Julian on the back.

“Honestly, Fawcett!” A woman doubled over with laughter. “You’re such a scream!” Another man within the group reached across the group and delicately took the woman’s hand, pulling her towards him.

“You want screams, darling?” He smirked. “I can give you screams, I promise.”

Others chipped in with various derogatory comments (directed at both the woman and those on-screen) as Julian peered over the heads of his colleagues in search of a drink. For the first time, he noticed the abundance of waiters presenting tray after tray of rich, overindulgent canapés and expensive champagne to well-off ladies and gentlemen. 

Julian turned his attention back to the TV. The sight of enemy MPs handing food to the lowest ends of society made his stomach churn, although, for once in his political career, not because he was looking at the faces of those in poverty. A notion rose in Julian that shocked even himself.

“Do you think we should’ve…” Julian paused. He stopped the damning words before they could escape the confines of his usually uncaring mouth. 

“Should’ve what, old chap? Helped out at the food bank too?” A man guffawed, giving Julian an incredulous look.

“No!” Julian said defensively. “No, I meant that we should’ve err… got the media here. Yes! Shown those Lefties what they’re missing out on!”

“Too right, Fawcett! Too right!” Julian gazed back at the TV with his usual smug grin, wiping his mind of any guilt he momentarily felt. Christmas was no time for guilt, but it didn’t quite feel like the time for joy anymore either. 

Julian had the approval of his peers, he had his Party, he had a Christmas Eve celebration surrounded by those at the highest ends of society, what more could he possibly want at Christmas?


	2. Christmas 1538 - Humphrey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// food, alcohol mention  
> Slightly shorter chapter today cause it’s Christmas (hope everyone has a great day btw!!) but I enjoyed this one none the less.  
> I sincerely apologise to anyone who speaks French, I (obviously) do not so used Google Translate... pls forgive me  
> (Tomorrow will be Kitty, and possibly Pat too!!)

“Here’s a good one: a friend of mine won the competition for the tallest Christmas tree,” Humphrey said around a mouthful of plum pudding, “and I thought, wow how could anyone top that!” 

He sniggered, proud of his joke before shovelling another spoonful of pudding into his mouth. Humphrey’s wife Marguerite stared silently across the table at him with eyes like daggers piercing through the tense room. 

“Qu'est-ce que tu racontes?” She asked, in brusk, heavily-accented French. 

“Well, my friend? Mon amie? Yes, mon amie. Mon amie... won for… his tree... son arbre. Yes?” Humphrey paused. Marguerite stared, confused and contemptuous. “Never mind,” Humphrey stumbled, “wasn’t that funny anyway.”

Another uneasy silence fell across the manor house. Humphrey had to break the searing eye contact his wife was intent on maintaining and found himself scrutinising the otherwise empty room, doing anything to distract himself. 

The couple sat facing each other at the end of a lengthy wooden table, the space between them piled high with goose and hog and plum pudding and mince pies that the cooks had prepared earlier that day. Garlands hung from the ceilings wooden supports in great waves of colour across the room, all leading to a great fir tree at one end. Humphrey had spent hours that morning individually lighting and arranging nearly two hundred candles on the towering fir and they now provided the majority of the light for the grand hall.

“Votre nourriture de Noël anglaise n'est pas bonne.” Marguerite grumbled. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Humphrey asked. “Was that about me?” 

“La nourriture française a de la saveur!” She proclaimed, gesturing wildly with one hand. “Nous avons de bien meilleures traditions en France!”

“En France!” Humphrey repeated. “In France! I can understand that much!” He clapped himself on the back and chuckled gently, hoping a little goofiness might alter the atmosphere. His hopes quickly sobered once he met his wife’s gaze.

“Vous anglais êtes si arrogant!” Marguerite rolled her eyes at Humphrey’s behaviour and took a sip of her blood red wine. “Vous comprenez un mot et vous pensez pouvoir parler français!”

“Afraid I’m back to not understanding anything, thought I was practically fluent in French for a moment.” Humphrey smiled and took a sip of wine, to mirror his wife. He leant back in his uncomfortable wooden chair and peered out of the window behind him. 

Just outside the gates of the manor house a group of local villagers drunkenly stumbled past the fence making an unnatural amount of noise for five people. Their voices melted together in a jarring, tuneless rendition of “Here We Come a-Wassailing” that rose through the freezing night following the trail forged by their warm breath. 

Humphrey watched as the group laughed together before moving on further into the village. He smiled sadly and turned back to his table, ready for another course of Christmas dinner with a wife he could not understand, nor make himself love. 

“Voulez-vous la dernière tranche de pudding aux prunes?” Marguerite gestured to the table before them. 

Humphrey sighed.


	3. Christmas 1778 - Kitty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// bullying, food  
> Here’s Kitty’s Christmas!! Thank you for all the love,, I’m going to try and respond to all the comments once I’ve posted.  
> Also,, Pat chapter coming legit right now too!!  
> Enjoy :)

The snow had risen to Kitty’s ankles in the time she had been stood outside. She tried to regain the circulation in her toes by wiggling them in the snow but found that her bare feet had been frozen solid. 

Tiny snowflakes were gathering in her hair and flecking onto her ice-cold cheeks, yet undeterred by the weather and her current circumstances, Kitty’s face bore both a wide, childish smile and eyes misted over by the sheer joy she felt for the festive season.

“Oh, it looks delightful, daddy!” Kitty squealed. “You’re always so wonderful at this!” 

She cupped her hands closer between her eyes and the glass so she could get a better look at the gorgeous fir tree her father was decorating inside. As she gazed up at the charming decorations being hung on the tree, her warm breath began to steam up the icy window she had her face pressed against. 

She watched the cosy scene unfolding inside as both Victoria, Kitty’s older sister, and their mother sat side by side in front of the roaring fire exchanging comments and advice about their various sewing projects laid out across their laps. 

A gust of wind rushed along the wall of the house swishing Kitty’s baby blue dress around her legs and causing goosebumps to rise on her bare skin. 

Shivering in the gale, Kitty caught the gaze of her sister from across the room, who promptly made her way towards the window. She gave her little sister a sickly sweet smile, snatched a parcel off a nearby cabinet, and skipped her way across the room. 

She began to peel open the brown paper package. With Kitty watching wide-eyed and curious, Victoria took out four small squares of chocolate and, maintaining soft eye contact with her sister, broke off each square one by one.

“Vicky, you’re confused,” Kitty’s brow furrowed as she called out over the wind, “that’s my present from Uncle John! Yours is on the table in the kitchen, still!”

Victoria’s muffled voice reached Kitty through the glass: “I opened and ate mine already, and I want a little bit more. You don’t mind, do you?” She held up one of the chocolate squares in the window and shot puppy eyes towards her innocent younger sister. Kitty shook her head. 

“No, of course not!” Kitty replied. “Sharing is caring!” She observed as Victoria placed one square into her mouth and grinned.

“Can I come in now, Vicky?” Kitty asked.

“You need to wait out for Saint Nicholas, he won’t come if you’re not waiting outside for him,” Victoria explained, munching contently on the chocolate. The girls’ mother snapped her head around to the concerning conversation taking place at the window.

“Stop teasing Katherine!” She warned. “Tell her to come in, please Victoria.” 

“Oh no, Mother!” Kitty shouted through the glass. “I’m perfectly content out here, I do hope Saint Nick comes!”  
Her mother rolled her eyes at the bizarre, yet never the less characteristic, behaviour of her youngest child but soon returned to her needlework. She’d often wondered where Kitty’s naive and childlike attitude originated from as Kitty was wildly different to the rest of the family, but she usually allowed the girl to live freely and rarely intervened in her flights of fancy.

Outside, Kitty gazed up at the inky sky, still yearning for the soft tinkle of sleigh bells and the call of Saint Nicholas to reverberate through the night, despite the worrying lack of feeling in her toes beginning to creep up her legs. 

If only she could relax beside the fire and warm her frozen body to match the warmth she felt in her soul during the Christmas season. But Saint Nicholas wouldn’t come, Victoria said so. And if Vicky told her to wait outside for her presents, she wouldn’t lie. Kitty thought she would never lie.


	4. Christmas 1982 - Pat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// food, implied cheating   
> Two chapters in one day,, I have been a busy bee!! (And that’s the first time I’ve said that since I was seven)  
> I actually really like this one because Pat is not only the most similar character to me so I like writing him but also his life and situation is most similar too. So this Christmas is just what it was like at mine XD  
> Enjoy!!

“You having a smashing Christmas, Daley?” Pat asked without looking up. He was elbow-deep in the turkey, singing along to Slade when he was overcome by the fatherly sixth sense that his young son was peering round the kitchen door - all wide-eyed and inquisitive.

“Mmhm.” Daley leant against the door being careful not to catch his bare feet in the ends of his oversized snowman-patterned pyjamas. He picked at the peeling blue paint on the kitchen door and avoided his father’s gaze.

“You don’t sound so sure, duck. You okay?” Pat looked up from the turkey in time to watch Daley pad across the brown carpet floor and fail to hoist himself up onto the kitchen counter. 

“Here, let me help you.” Pat reached over and pulled his son up onto the side next to the half-chopped vegetables for lunch.

Once he was comfortably perched, watching his father stuff the turkey, Daley stated very matter of factly: “Emma and Helen are still opening their presents.”

Pat adjusted his glasses. “Well, Morris does like to go a little overboard on his daughter’s gifts, doesn’t he?” Before Daley could agree, screams of laughter rang out from the living room. 

The same problem happened each Christmas. Every year, Pat tried his best to get Daley everything he wanted but every year Morris could buy his girls double. It wasn’t a case of competition, and Pat knew that both men were doing what they thought best for their children but it happened that scoutmaster wasn’t as well paying a job as Pat would’ve hoped.

“Do you want to play Mousetrap?” Daley asked, snapping Pat’s mind back to the present. He glanced up from the turkey to catch Daley’s gleaming eyes and hopeful smile. “You can even be the red mouse!” 

“Sorry, Daley.” Pat turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see the disappointment cross his son’s features. “I need to finish cooking lunch.”

“What about afterwards?”

“Need to clean up.” Daley’s eyes fell to the floor again. “Why don’t you play with Mummy? I’m sure Morris and the girls would like to play too.” Pat smiled with a noticeably faux cheery manner and patted Daley’s knee. He moved away and bent down to place the turkey tray into the oven.

“But I want to play with you, Daddy.” Silence passed between the father and son. “Why don’t you tell Mummy to cook? And then you can come play!”

“You know how Mummy gets on Christmas. Her and Morris like to relax and play with the girls while I do the cooking. And she’d never cope with all the timings and temperatures anyway!” There was a beat of silence, in which Pat picked up a knife and went back to the abandoned vegetables.

“Sometimes I think Mummy loves Emma and Helen more than me.” Pat froze, vegetable knife hovering above a potato.

“Wh- what?” Pat stammered. “Where did that come from, love? What on Earth makes you think that?”

Daley shrugged. “She only plays with them now, and she takes them shopping all the time but I never get to go anymore. She says it’s girl time and that we’ll go out sometime soon, but we never do.” Pat sighed and carefully placed the knife on the counter, well out of Daley’s reach. 

This had been happening more regularly, Pat often came back from scout camp to find Daley over-excited about his return. At first, he’d revelled in the idea that his son was thrilled to see him but had begun to question how much attention the boy got while he was away.

“Daley, listen.” Pat stepped over and placed his hands on Daley’s knees. “Mummy loves you very much, you know that. Morris’ girls are practically nieces to us, especially to Mummy but you’ll always be our son. You always come first, love. I promise.”

“But sometimes it doesn’t feel-“

“I know.” Pat interrupted. “I know, but I love you more than anything. And so does mummy, but if she doesn’t show it enough then I’ll just have to give you all the love the world! You’re my little man, Daley, and you know that I love you more than anything.”

Pat leant forwards and gathered his son into a hug. Daley let out a content sigh and seemed satisfied with his father’s answer.

“Now, the quicker I finish cooking, the quicker we eat!” Pat said, back to the usual sing-song tone he was used to in his work with children.

“And the quicker we eat, the quicker we clean!” Daley sang back.

“And the quicker we clean, the quicker we play!”

“Mousetrap?” Daley said, hopefully.

“Of course! As long as I get the red mouse!” They shared a soft giggle and Pat turned up the volume on the radio for them to sing along: Feliz Navidad - always one of his favourites. “Now, do you think I’ve cut the veg to small?”

“Daley!” Carol’s voice rang out through the small terraced house. She poked her head around the flaking blue door and rolled her eyes. “Daley, I was wondering where you got to! Come on back to the living room, leave your dad to cook.” 

“He’s alright, Carol.” Pat chuckled. “He’s been helping, actually.”

Carol ignored Pat entirely and marched across the kitchen to take Daley by the hand. She helped him down from the counter and patted his curly auburn hair.

“It’s rude to leave before everyone’s finished their presents.” She scolded. 

“But I-“ Daley began.

“Are you nearly done?” She asked turning to Pat. “You might want to get a move on, we’re all starting to get hungry in there.” Carol gestured towards the living room as she led Daley out of the door.

“I wouldn’t know, would I? I’m not in there.”


	5. Christmas 1823 - Thomas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// no triggers  
> I found it so difficult to start this one (as you can tell poetry is not my forte) but once I got going this was by far the easiest to write!!  
> Hope you enjoy this one, tomorrow will be either Fanny or Mary (I can’t decide yet) but if anyone has a preference or has any specific ideas,, let me know!!

“Low in the sky the winter sun doth lay, thy lamps burn brighter in the darker day. Beneath the kissing bough… the kissing bough… beneath the… Can you please leave!” Thomas cried, his eyes were still closed and hand aloft in poetic gesture. “I cannot work with all this commotion!”

“Master Thomas, you’re in the way of our game!” Thomas finally dropped his gaze from the ceiling to see the darkened room had been overrun by children. In front of him, a young girl stood glaring with her arms crossed and a cloth blindfold hanging around her neck.

“Hoodman’s blind doesn’t exactly work if there’s a sorrowful poet sighing in the way.” A boy chipped in, which drew a collection of agreements from the rest of the group.

“But this is my writing place,” Thomas whined, “amuse yourselves elsewhere!”

“It’s a party, Master Thomas! You should be with the others.”

“I had a moment of inspiration, which you have now dashed, and was simply compelled to compose. But I suppose I had better rejoin the merriments.” Thomas sighed and peered out of the window at the various young gentlemen arriving on horseback. 

“To return to the festivities means I must suppress the overwhelming sea of emotions I endure at such events. The woe of being surrounded by lovers and families, the joy of music and dancing, the bewilderment that seeing Isabelle and her disapproving family arises in me…” 

Before Thomas could list another of his countless feelings, he was interrupted by the door slamming and the giggles of the children trying to find another room to play in. Thomas groaned and marched downstairs to rejoin the party.

He was drawn towards the main hall by the swell of the string quartet and the laughing joy of his friends and family nearby. As he made it into the room ready to dance away his sorrows, the band changed to a slow, romantic ballad that even arose a gag in usually lovesick Thomas. He made his way towards his cousin Francis as other eligible bachelors identified a partner and began to make their way to the dance floor.

“I despise this song.” He grumbled to Francis. Traditional Christmas music usually warmed Thomas’ heart but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself this year. The sound of the festive tunes marked another year had passed with no marriage, no children, not even a lover in the form of his beloved Isabelle.

“Oh come, cousin!” Francis huffed. “If you were dancing with your darling Isabelle, you wouldn’t feel so, would you?” Thomas shot a look towards Isabelle. Her father took her hand and placed it in that of a fine nearby gentleman, a look of contempt passed across Isabelle’s face before she was pulled towards the dance floor by her suitor. 

“I dare say that would be true,” Thomas said. Isabelle placed her delicate hands upon her dance partner’s shoulders and shot a friendly smile at the man, but Thomas could not help but recognise that there was no affection behind her eyes.

“Oh cousin! That should be I, there with Isabelle!” He placed the back of his hand across his forehead in a dramatic display of despair. “I should be I who holds her in dance, I who shares gazes of affection, I who should kiss her lips. Not this… This charlatan!”

“Now Thomas, I’m sure Isabelle’s feelings for you have not mellowed.” Thomas was momentarily distracted from his cousin’s kind words by the presence of children in the grand hall. Many had become weary in their relentless games of chase and tag and sought out the comfort of their parents among the partygoers. They had climbed upon the laps of their various parents and promptly fell asleep, worn out by the sheer excitement of the festive season.

“I often wonder if I should be married by now, cousin,” Thomas confessed. “Marriage and children are in my future, I can see them but alas I have once again been spurned.”

“You and Isabelle shall marry one day, I promise you that.” Francis rested a hand on Thomas’ shoulder and smiled sympathetically. Thomas nodded and flicked his attention between the fathers holding their precious children as they slept and Isabelle dancing with a stranger, gazing longingly at Thomas over the man’s shoulder.

“I’d rather take the bitter release of death than witness next Christmas with her in the arms of another,” Thomas whispered, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

“I will be your cupid, cousin,” Francis said. “And I shall ensure that is certainly the case.”


	6. Christmas 5101BC - Robin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// dead rabbit, food  
> Ik I promised Fanny or Mary but shit happened in my life so I had to write a short one today.  
> Christmas didn’t exist yet for Robin (obvs) but this is his Christmas Day.  
> Sorry it’s so short, I’ll try better tomorrow!!

Beams of winter moonlight worked their way through the thick canopy of tree branches and lit up the forest floor. The lunar halo was crystal clear upon the cloudless black blanket of sky, smattered with flickering stars. 

Every step Robin took through the darkened forest snapped fallen twigs and crunched the grass laden solid with frost. He trudged on through the cold night, icy winds prickling his skin where his thick animal fur clothes failed to cover him. 

“Ohh,” Robin moaned, “me far from home now!” He had been walking for three days in search of food for his community but had thus far been relatively unsuccessful. His stomach let out an almighty growl and Robin quickly doubled over with the pain it brought. 

It was only December but it had been a particularly chilling and arduous winter for Robin and his community, particularly the young, weakling children who could no longer bear the hunger. All the wildlife in their local area had been wiped out by the harsh winter freeze and Robin’s hunter-gatherer expedition had turned up little food to offer. 

A single small rabbit hung from Robin’s belt and, while he wished to take it home as an offering to the community, he had been eyeing up the animal to calm his grumbling stomach. 

“Me want some bum,” Robin complained. “Rabbit bum not so good.”

He approached a fallen tree and sat down deciding his weary body could not take another step, he was practically a professional fire builder so it took him less than a minute to have gathered and piled up enough sticks. 

The first spark of a flame when he struck some twigs together shocked Robin: “Gets me every time!” He mumbled. Carefully placing the flame into the pile, the sticks quickly caught, shining some much-needed light amongst the trees. 

“Me want bum, but take home for family?” Robin eyed the rabbit, turning the small animal over in his hand. He took it off his belt and laid it down on the log beside him with a sigh. He stoked the fire one last time before flopping down on his back onto the log. 

“Will be home, soon.” He whispered into the night, his warm breath rising up towards the trees. “Will see family again.”

Robin snuggled into his fur clothes and adjusted his back where it was resting uncomfortably on the tree. He gazed up at the winter moon and smiled sadly to himself.

“No family, but always moonah.” His dry eyes finally fell shut with fatigue. “Good night, Moonah.” He whispered as he finally gave in to the urging sleep.


	7. Christmas 1903 - Fanny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// implied cheating,  
> Sorry there was no update yesterday,, my life has been getting in the way. I’m not v proud of this one, and it’s not very festive (and tomorrow’s won’t be either) but the Captains and Alison’s will be coming soon and they’re both alright XD

“What are your thoughts, George?” Fanny asked. She was holding a string of red and green garlands above the living room doorway. “Do you believe it should be placed higher?”

“Looks marvelous,” George mumbled, his eyes still fixated on the enormous broadsheet newspaper hiding his wife entirely from his view.

“You did not even look, George.” She yanked the garland off the wall and gripped it tightly between her two hands.

He flopped the newspaper down into his lap, the crinkly paper hit his knees with slightly too much force to coincide with his apparently calm and composed demeanour.

He glanced up at his wife, who was glaring back with a judgemental gaze that could easily have frozen over hell.

“Whatever you decide, I’m sure it will be suitable.” He raised the paper back to his view.

“I was thinking we should perhaps invite the Blackwater family over for the 27th,” Fanny said.  
“Have a little party to celebrate the festive season?”

“Yes, that sounds good,” George murmured.

“Or maybe I’ll invite them to spend the entire week, to add a little change to our routine, yes?”

After a beat, George responded: “Of course, yes.”

“And then perhaps, if we were feeling dangerous, we could slaughter the lot of them in their beds.”

“I agree entirely.”

“Oh, you do agree? Yes, well, that’s very telling.” Fanny pursed her lips and turned away from her husband in contempt at his disrespect. “Not listening again, never listening.”

There was a soft knock at the door before it was slowly pushed open. Young Frederick, the groundsman, poked his head around the wooden door with a cheeky smile. George turned his entire body in his chair towards the 20-something-year-old and placed the broadsheet on the chair beside him.

“Can we help you, yes?” He asked.

“Sir,” Frederick ignored Fanny entirely, as usual, and turned straight towards George with a smile. “I thought I should inform you the fence at the back has broken loose, I assume in the storm last night. I was planning on fixing it this morning, sir, if you want me to?” 

Fanny should have been shocked by the appearance of the groundskeeper in her drawing room, and she was: the first time, but for months this dashing young gentlemen had been encroaching on her life. 

He was appearing around the house and luring her husband away for menial garden repairs when usually a servant such as him shouldn’t have even set foot beyond the back porch. Yet here he stood, as bold as brass, asking for help.

“Of course, Frederick!” George clapped his hands on his knees before standing up quickly. “I’ll certainly aid you in your work!”

“Oh there’s no need for that, I’m sure. The young gentleman is perfectly capable of handling any work by himself.”

“But somebody must hold the fence up, darling. No way for a man to do so by himself. It’ll only take an hour or so.” Before Fanny could object, George had gathered Frederick to leave the room.

“It’s Christmas Eve, George!” Fanny cried. 

The door slammed and the room was left in a strange silence. This had been happening more and more recently as George disappeared off to mysterious areas of the house at all hours of the day to “help” the various servants with jobs they could themselves. 

Fanny sighed and sat down resigned in the chair George once occupied, now fully aware that even Christmas wouldn’t draw her husband’s care and attention away from the worthless household chores and the servants that provided them.

Fanny peered out of the back window around an hour later and saw the disheveled fence lay flat on the grass, untouched by the men supposedly at work. This seemed to be a common occurrence too.


	8. Christmas 1617 - Mary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// mentioned parental death, child with parental issues  
> Happy New Years, fellas!! I made a huge mistake when writing this fic,, I put 3 really tricky chapters in a row: Robin, Fanny, and Mary. But here,, not brilliant, not festive but here!!  
> (Captain chapter coming within the next hour or so,, and that’s cuteeeee!!)

“Come now, James.” Mary approached her 6-year-old son with some apprehension. James had been happily playing outside with other children but was now stood stock still and glancing warily back towards the house he had been staying for the past few weeks. “Stop now with the silliness.” 

Worried faces appeared from around the village to watch the interaction Mary insisted on having with her son. It was a matter of days until Mary would celebrate her first Christmas alone but she felt the need to see her children one last time before the holidays.

“Leave him alone, Mary!” One of the village elders, Henry, advanced calmly from the house and took in the interaction with a level of uneasiness. He took the young boy by the arm and dragged him slowly away from his mother. 

Mary’s two children had been living with the village elder for a number of months and every time Mary came to talk to them the same had happened. It pained her to see the fear in her children’s eyes whenever she approached.

“I just wants to give him his gift! ‘Ere, James, you takes this!” Mary dismissed, she reached into the large pocket on the front of her dress and pulled out two wooden animals. They were rough approximations of a cow and a horse that Mary had spent weeks whittling with nothing but a small knife. 

“And gives this one to Elizabeth.” She took a small cloth doll out of her other pocket and pushed it into James’ hands, along with the animals. James smiled up at her but, before he could spend long admiring the toys, they were snatched from his hands by Henry.

“I’ll be taking these!” He snapped. “You never know what they could do.”

“What means you by that?” Mary scoffed.

“We don’t know of what you may be capable.” 

“Tosh!” Mary scorned. “I know not what you speaks about. I cannot do nothing more than you nor any other!”

“Come in please, James.” Henry took James by the arm and began to pull him back towards his small thatched cottage. James looked back at her over his shoulder and offered his mother a watery smile. 

As Henry threw open the front door of his cottage and pushed James back inside, Mary caught a glimpse of her daughter Elizabeth watching worriedly from inside.

During the autumn harvest that year, Mary’s husband had been killed in a tragic farming accident. Mary had been there, she’d watched along with other members of the community. Things had never been the same. Not only had Mary lost her beloved husband and father of her two young children but she had lost the support of her community in the following months.

At first, they had been supportive, but then the rumours had started. It began as just hushed whispers, glances shared between friends and neighbours as Mary hung out her washing or raked her garden.

They were afraid of her, her own children were afraid of what she might have done to their father, of what magic she may possess.

The door slammed as the children were ushered inside and Mary turned to leave. She walked along the dirt tracks through the villages towards her small home. She couldn’t help but think as she walked of her supposed magical powers, the ones that had caused her children to abandon her. If she had the powers the community believed she did, Mary would use them to bring her children to her for Christmas, to give them whatever she could as gifts, to help them through the trauma of losing their father. 

But Mary had no magic, just love. And it appeared that even the love of Christmas wasn’t quite magical enough for the community.


	9. Christmas 1942 - Captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// food,  
> Here!! The last ghost!! Now just Alison!! This one I kinda love,, I’m hella proud tbh. I don’t write ships much anymore but (platonic squinty) Captain/Havers felt like a rite of passage for this one. It also made long this one.  
> I’m hoping if I can finish this fic by Epiphany then I’ll have been successful for doing in during Christmas!!  
> Anyway,, enjoy!! :)

“Not going home for Christmas, sir?” Lieutenant Havers asked. He was laid back in a chair, lounging with his feet crossed at the ankle and resting upon the Captain’s desk. He was using a pen knife to carefully sharpen a box of wooden colouring pencils one by one, the shavings falling into a neat pile in his lap. Earlier that day, he had used the very little money he had to buy them for his only niece and was sharpening them to save himself a job on Christmas.

“Afraid not, Havers,” the Captain said. “Someone must remain on base. Yes, ensure Fritz doesn’t get his hands on anything.” He didn’t look up from his desk. He hoped Havers would assume it was because of concentration, rather than because he didn’t want to discuss his Christmas plans.

“With respect, I’m sure Fritz will be celebrating Christmas too!”

“Or perhaps that’s what they want us to think?” The Captain smirked. “Perhaps they wish to strike while you’re wolfing down your Christmas pudding, Havers?”

“Well, the invasion can wait then, can’t it?” Havers said defiantly. “I’ve waited all year to enjoy mother’s Christmas cooking, nothing will interrupt that!”

“I swear, Havers! Your sweet tooth will lose us the war!” As the Captain spoke, he pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a small bar of dark chocolate he had bought with his rations. He offered the bar to Havers, who snorted with laughter but nevertheless snapped off a piece and popped it into his mouth.

“Even when you’re mocking me, I can’t say no to something sweet!”

The Captain let out what can only be described as a giggle. He returned his pencil to the notebook in front of him and went back to sketching. This was how he spent most of his nights these days, sketching in his office with Havers relaxing nearby. 

The Captain had been an avid artist since he was a child but rarely drew in front of others, he was scared of anyone observing his beloved craft. Havers, however, knew this. He soon learnt not to watch the pencil scratching over the paper but to instead keep himself occupied and wait for his Captain to show him what he was proud of. And the Captain soon learnt to relax and let Havers do much of the talking for the both of them.

“Won’t your family miss you if you’re away for Christmas, sir?” Havers asked nonchalantly.

“I’m sure they will cope.” The Captain shut the conversation down immediately. “When do you leave for home?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Havers said. “My train leaves at a quarter past six.”

“Well, I hope you have a bally good week!” The Captain smiled. “It will be nice for you to see your family after all this time.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Havers paused the sharpening. “If you wanted me to stay with you for Christmas, to look after the base I mean, I’m more than willing.”

“No, Havers. You should return home, give my warmest wishes to your family.”

“Will do, sir.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence again but the room was permeated by the crackling of the antique fire and the soft scratching of the Captain’s pencil. 

After a few more hours of hushed conversation, twelve chimes tolled outside the Captain’s door, snapping the two men to glance up at each other. It had been dusky outside when Havers had entered the Captain’s office for his usual evening of friendly conversation in the comfort of his CO, but the sky had now become inky and a soft layer of snow had blanketed the ground.

“Well I never,” the Captain gasped, “it’s past midnight?” 

“I should go, I have an early train to catch,” Havers muttered. He slowly removed his feet from the desk, before standing up and smoothing down his trousers. 

“I say, Havers,” the Captain called out. Havers looked up and saw the Captain holding out two items for him to take. A significantly larger bar of chocolate and a slip of yellow-tinged paper Havers recognised from the Captain’s beloved notebook. 

“These-,” he stammered, “these are yours, for Christmas. Gifts. Happy Christmas, I mean to say.”

“Can I?” Havers gestured to the gifts before taking them carefully from the Captain’s shaky hands. He opened the sheet of paper to see a rough sketch of the very scene they had spent the evening in, with the two of them laughing in the warmth of the little office. He had perfectly captured the atmosphere they so often shared: the casual relaxation of the two men, the warm smiles shared between them.  
Havers stared unspeaking at his superior. 

“It isn’t very much, I apologise. I could’ve put more thought in, really.”

“Oh, it’s wonderful, Captain!” Havers grinned, before his face fell. “I’m afraid I haven’t got you anything, sir.”

“There’s no need, really! It isn’t exactly proper for a CO and a soldier to exchange gifts, but it’s just a small thing.” 

“I’ll bring you something back from Sussex, I promise.”

“Do not worry yourself, Havers.” The Captain smiled. “Focus on having a good time with your family.” Havers nodded a thanks to his CO and smiled sweetly, he slowly shut the door behind him gripping the presents in one hand. 

The Captain sat back into his uncomfortable wooden desk chair and sighed, peering out at the snow that had fallen in the garden. He steeled himself for a week of wandering alone through the ghostly, empty halls of Button House and a Christmas Day filled with rehydrated porridge and a single chunk of cold chicken. 

Oh, how he envied Havers. The man was one short train journey away from a piping hot Christmas dinner, from hugging his family, from games, from laughter. Gazing longingly out of the window, wishing for a life he had never had, the Captain vowed that one day he would celebrate in a meaningful way, with people who meant the world to him.


	10. Christmas 2007 - Alison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// food, parental death, discussion of illness  
> I am so sorry,, this chapter is pure sadness and I apologise.  
> It’s canon that Alison’s parents aren’t around (or at least one isnt) so I filled in the gaps. I promise there’s a reason,, you’ll find out in the next chapter.  
> I’m genuinely sorry  
> (Also,, majorrrrr Self projection for me in this chapter,, I lost one of my parents to illness when I was young so this made me get into my feels tbh)

“Wow, Ali! This all looks great!” Alison’s father Paul shuffled into the tiny kitchen he shared with his daughter. Every counter was covered with freshly prepared food, sweet treats, and homemade non-alcoholic mulled wine. Alison looked up from the recipe book she had propped open on the counter and turned to face her dad.

“Morning, dad! Merry Christmas!” She said smiling softly, her dark wavy hair bouncing around her face.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart!” Paul reached one arm out to place it around his daughter’s shoulders but Alison watched as he winced and held his other arm tight around his middle. Alison leant into the half-hug being careful not to use any unnecessary force.

“How are you feeling this morning, dad? Any better?” She slowly pulled herself away, being cautious not to step on her father’s bare feet. She should tell him to go and put slippers on, it didn’t ever do him good to be cold, but she wasn’t about to start an argument on Christmas.

“Same old, same old, darling.” Gentle quiet fell between the pair as Alison hummed while stirring a mug of thick gravy.

“Hey, listen, I haven’t really been able to go out and get you a present, Ali,” Paul confessed. “I’m sorry, but here.” He reached into his pyjama pocket and pulled out a collection of banknotes, thrusting them towards Alison.

“Dad, I can’t. I know we don’t have-“

“Shush now, I won’t hear anything of it!” He waved his hand dismissively, knowing that Alison was going to protest. “Buy yourself something you really want. Clothes, a GameBoy, I don’t know what you kids are into. But I expect to see what you’ve bought, I don’t want to hear that you’ve spent it on groceries or something, okay?”

“Okay,” Alison felt the need to concede. “Thanks, dad.”

Paul slowly shuffled over to the fridge and rested two pale, bony fingers on a slightly faded photograph stuck on with a small elephant-shaped magnet. The photo had been taken a few years earlier. Himself, his wife, and a 14-year-old Alison lounged on the beach on a family holiday to the Canary Islands, it had been the last one they ever went on together. Paul smiled sadly at the image and stroked his two fingers down the face of his wife. 

“Merry Christmas, Jenni.” He whispered, leaning forward to place a kiss on her forehead. Alison surreptitiously watched her father over her shoulder and allowed herself to smile a little at the sight. Paul turned and caught his daughter’s eye. 

“Third Christmas, Ali.” Alison hummed in agreement without responding. 

“Here we go, Jen,” Paul picked up a red envelope he had left on the sideboard and flicked it open with only one hand, the other rubbing his stomach in discomfort.

“Dad, don’t do this again,” Alison mumbled. 

“It’s tradition.” He stated firmly. He pulled out a card featuring a drawing of a bustling Christmas market and began reading the inside out loud. “

“Merry Christmas, Jenni, my darling. I hope you have a peaceful Christmas and remember, I love you to the moon and back. All my love, Paul. Kiss, kiss!” Alison refused to look at her father during his reading. She always refused. 

“You should’ve signed it too, Ali.” He sighed. 

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because.” Alison defied her father and shut down the questioning, she stepped over to the oven and turned up the heat. Before she could even reach the temperature she needed, Paul gave out a low moan and doubled over, gripping the side of the counter for support. Alison rushed to her father’s side and rested a hand on his lower back, she could feel his clammy skin through his thin pyjama shirt. 

“You alright, dad?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He said through gritted teeth before sprinting headfirst into a coughing fit. Once Paul had calmed his violent body, Alison carefully led him over to the small kitchen table and gently lowered him into a chair. 

“Here, let me take that.” Alison carefully pried the Christmas card from Paul’s hand and affixed it to the fridge alongside the photograph, underneath the elephant magnet.

“Merry Christmas, mum.” She whispered, not too quiet so that her father could hear. 

“You should’ve signed it, Alison,” Paul murmured. “This tradition can’t last for eternity, this could be the last year we’re all together.”

“We’re not together now, dad, in what world are we all together now.” Alison huffed gesturing at the photo. 

“It might be worse next year,” Paul said quietly. He stared down at the Formica table, picking at the broken plastic protruding out from the corner. Alison forced her eyes away from the photo and card on the fridge and instead stared out of the little kitchen window. 

A young couple ambled down the dreary street, trudging through the snow on the miserable winter’s day. But they were smiling as they swung their young daughter up by the hands between them. Alison felt as her nose twitch and lip begin to quiver until a single hot tear tracked its way down her cheek. 

“Yeah,” she sniffled, “it will be worse next year. It’s always worse the next year.” Paul disintegrated into coughs again, dragging Alison back to reality, whether she’d like or not. 

“I’ll get you a drink, dad,” she began to run the tap, “dinner’s nearly ready.”


	11. Christmas 2020 - Mike (pt.1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:// food mention, teensy bit of sadness but not much  
> I’m so sorry for being away but I hope this (essentially four chapters in one) chapter will make up for it a little.  
> This is gonna be in two parts cause just this one is 3000 words.  
> I’ve been crazy busy and my entire life has collapsed in on itself over the past week but I cba for detail cause that’s boring. It’s just been horrible.  
> Anyway, enjoy and hopefully next chapter soon!! Xx

“Add more veg to the list. In case we get properly snowed in for the January diet,” Mike leaned over Alison’s shoulder to peer at the scratchy shopping list, soapy dishwater dripping from his hands onto the kitchen table. The snow outside had been falling intermittently for three days and had grounded Mike and Alison to the confines of their house. Although, with the constant commotion emanating from the couple’s undead housemates, it was difficult for them to feel particularly trapped. 

The relative calm and quiet of Mike and Alison’s morning was abruptly broken by the arrival of said housemates. Robin, quickly followed by Kitty, materialised through the kitchen wall at great speed and both dashed around to the other side of the table and ducked behind Alison’s chair. Wide grins graced both of their faces and they both puffed with a combination of exhaustion and laughter.

“What are you two up to?” Alison craned round to smile at the two huddled behind her. Kitty opened her mouth to answer but dissolved into giggles before she could form any words. A voice boomed from a nearby room.

“What the bally hell do you think you’re doing?” The Captain emerged through the same spot as the others and marched across the room, his usual air of dominance exuding from his very presence. 

“Oh God,” Alison mumbled.

“You okay?” Mike turned away from the washing up towards Alison and watched her staring into what he regarded to be empty space with an amused smirk. Mike huffed out a laugh. Alison’s interactions with her invisible friends had once concerned him but after the hundredth time of discovering his wife talking to thin air he had become relatively unfazed by their presence, perhaps he was even amused by their unusual living situation.

“Wait, what’s happened?” Alison interrupted.

“Me do nothing!” Robin proclaimed.

“These two… these hooligans have taken it upon themselves to jump out of every nook, simply to terrorise me!” The Captain exclaimed, waggling his finger at the pair. “Now, Robin I expect this from you, but young Katherine? Complicit in this ambush?” 

“They had the audacity to shock me also, Captain!” Fanny complained, having faded through the corner of the kitchen to observe the exchange with her usual contempt for the pair.

“Scaring Fanny like that as well? If you were soldiers of mine, I’d have you thrashed. The pair of you!” The Captain exclaimed. “Alison, I would thank you to punish these two with immediate effect!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, do you, Cap?” Alison grinned at him but was met with a stony face. She quickly sobered up. “Even if I knew how to punish them, I’m not going to do it for them having fun!”

“Fun at our expense,” Fanny interjected.

“Precisely, I am not here to be the butt of any joke.” It did not go unnoticed when the Captain’s hands tightened around his crop, white knuckles protruding as he spoke.

“It’s Christmas, Captain. Live a little!” The Captain scoffed. “Wrong turn of phrase, I mean that you should just loosen up a touch. For Christmas, yeah?”

“It’s another day, Alison. If we let down our guard, Lord only knows what danger we might encounter.” The Captain straightened up into his usual military-precise stance.

“War is over,” Robin stated.

“Exactly, Captain! There is rather little danger here.” Kitty said, optimism adorning her voice. Alison assumed that for once the Captain wasn’t directly talking about the war, so she let his comment slide. “I love Christmas! I truly do, it’s simply the most wonderful time of the year, wouldn’t you agree Alison?” Kitty sang.

“I’ve never really been much of a fan of Christmas,” Alison mumbled. This sparked Mike’s interest, who had learned to tune out Alison’s one-sided conversations. He wiped his hands dry and placed a hand on Alison’s shoulder.

“Quite so. It is just another day, no?” The Captain sniffed. “Nothing special.” This drew a gasp from Kitty.

“How dare you, Captain! It’s the most wondrous day! The food, the presents, spending time with the family. It’s perfect!” Kitty gazed wistfully over the heads of everyone else and clutched her hands tight over where her heart once beat.

“It’s good that you’re excited, Kitty. Maybe you’ll make up for the rest of us curmudgeons, hey?” Alison joked.

“You nearly ready to go, Ally?” Mike decided to interrupt while Alison was having a good moment, he knew that around Christmas that wasn’t always the case.

“Going out?” Robin perked up. “Going out in snow?”

“Just to Tesco’s. We’ll only be an hour or so.” Alison stood up and grabbed her thick yellow coat off the chair.

“No! Snow too cold!” Robin gestured towards the window where the snow had begun piling up in the corners of the window frames.

“Oh, don’t go Alison! You’ll both freeze!” Kitty cried out.

“It’s fine, guys. We’ve got thick coats, and we’ll be inside most of the time.” Mike shot Alison a questioning look and mouthed: ‘ghost thing?’ “They’re worried we’re going to freeze. They don’t want us to go.”

“We’ll be fine, guys,” Mike said. “We’ll bring you back presents!”

“A present for me?” Kitty gasped.

“For me?” Robin pointed towards his chest.

“I do not require any gift, thank you, Alison.” The Captain declared.

“They’re dead, Mike. They can’t use any presents?” Alison questioned.

“We’ll find something, I promise!”

***

“They’re back!” Kitty cried from her position beside the window. She had been watching the snow drift to the ground for well over an hour before the car crunched over the white blanket. Robin rushed towards the door with both Kitty and Mary in tow. The heavy wooden door creaked open as Mike and Alison came barreling in, fighting with carrier bags stuffed to the brim with an abundance of food.

“You have returned!” Kitty exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

“That be most surprising,” Mary said.

“See, I told you we wouldn’t be long!” Alison dropped some of the bags into the doorway and began to carry the others through to the kitchen.

“I’ll get the rest from the car then, Ally!” Mike called after her, bracing again for the cold to hit his face.

Alison unpacked all the food with the “help” of a variety of ghosts. Kitty and Robin were left disappointed after peering into all of the bags in search of anything that could resemble a gift only to find Mike had already taken whatever they’d bought and hidden them away from prying undead eyes. Fanny felt the need to comment on the “untraditional” nature of Mike and Alison’s festive choices: “Turkey? No, no, no! Turkey is eaten by peasants, only goose is suitable for an establishment such as Button House!”

Meanwhile, Thomas was patiently waiting beneath the mistletoe that Mike had taped above the living room door a few days earlier as a joke. He had hoped to capture Alison under it multiple times a day but had soon realised that spot had been co-opted by Thomas. 

Mike called Alison into the living room as he sat opening the post. She padded through the halls of Button House in fluffy pink socks, slightly regretting her decision to keep her feet warm as the soft material slipped against the wooden floors. As she rounded the corner with Kitty by her side, she caught the wistful gaze of Thomas leaning against the doorframe.

“My darling, Alison!” Thomas exclaimed as she approached. He clenched his hands together, held them close over his heart, and stepped forward to greet her. “Might I tempt you to-“

“Thomas,” Alison warned. She gave him a polite smile before slipping past him towards Mike. She didn’t clock the way Thomas’ features fell as she passed. 

Mike was lounging back on the sofa scrolling through his phone with a variety of festive cards laid out on the coffee table but sat up swiftly when he saw Alison.

“Is the scoutmaster in here?” He asked. 

“Me?” Pat was perched on a chair behind Mike with Julian and the Captain watching Mary’s rather lackluster demonstration on how to correctly pick up a chicken. He poked up his head at Mike’s question. “Yeah, I’m right here!”

“He’s just over there.” Alison gestures towards Pat. Mike jumped up and turned toward where he presumed Pat to be, his eyes settling a little to the left of the scoutmaster. 

“Come here, read this!” Mike placed the card he was holding down on the sideboard and held it open for Pat. Pat furrowed his brow at Alison who shot an equally confused look back towards him. Pat stood and wandered across to stand beside Mike and peered down at the scrawling black writing inside. 

The right-hand side contained a typical printed Merry Christmas message but the second Pat saw the sender’s name he froze. Adjusting his glasses and blinking forcefully, he felt the need to grip the tabletop for much-needed support: his ghostly hands of course disappearing straight through the wood, leaving him even more off-kilter. He began to read the paragraph on the left page. 

‘I must say, it was unexpected to receive a card from the two of you but I’m chuffed! The family and I are all doing well, as I hope you are too. We’re going to be having our second child in the summer (a little girl): Patrick is over the moon, he’s so excited to be a big brother! It was his 2nd birthday a few weeks ago which was lovely. He’s got such a personality now, you wouldn’t imagine! He reminds me of Dad more every day.  
His preschool says he’s started a “Friends Club” to help the lonely kids in his class, he’s a sweet kid! We’re also looking to get him into the Beavers soon, he’s smart for his age so we’re sure he could handle it. I’m thinking when he does I’ll try help out with it, maybe end up a scoutmaster like Dad? Perhaps we’ll end up in the vicinity of Button House, come full circle and host a Scout event right where Dad did.  
Anyway, I’m not sure why I’m telling you all this but it almost feels as if I’m talking to Dad when I send things to you, sending snippets of my life to him even in death! I’m glad to hear that you are both keeping well, and we’ll be sure to visit you on Dad’s anniversary next summer. Who knows, might be bringing the new baby!  
Thank you for everything, especially keeping Dad’s memory alive. I really appreciate that and I’m sure he would too. Have a wonderful festive season! From Daley, Melissa and Pat xx’

Daley’s words blurred as hot tears sprung to Pat’s eyes. He lifted his golden glasses and delicately dabbed at his eye, trying to avoid the acknowledgment of the others. But the room had fallen into an uncomfortable silence and the entire household had their attention on Pat. 

“May I read it?” Kitty asked quietly, waiting for Pat’s slow nod. Both Julian and the Captain also crossed the room to read over Kitty’s shoulders. The three of them read intently in the quiet room as Pat stood stock still beside them, reeling from his contact with the past. 

“Oh, Pat!” Kitty threw her arms around Pat and pulled him close. “That’s simply excellent! I do hope they visit here again!” Pat finally let himself go. He buried his face into Kitty’s arm and sniffled like a child who’d lost their parent in a crowded store. 

“Hmm yes,” Julian half-smiled. “I certainly wouldn’t agree to help out the scouts but I guess it’s a noble cause for some.” Pat peeked over Kitty’s ruffled sleeve and smiled at Julian. 

He was startled by a soft hand falling to rest on the back of his shoulder and was even more surprised to look up and see the Captain giving an uncharacteristically gentle look.

“Patrick, your family sounds rather wonderful,” he murmured. “You should be so proud!” Pat offered him a watery smile but, as quick as the soft features and gentle touch were there, they had been wiped away again, replaced by the stoic Captain everyone knew.

“Thank you, Mike,” Pat sniffled, removing himself from Kitty’s grasp. “That’s very thoughtful.”

***

“You should just kiss him!” Mike was already lying in bed watching as Alison got changed.

“I’m sorry, what?” His comment caught Alison off-guard, she caught her foot in the jogging bottoms she was trying to put on.

“Thomas. Just like a peck on the cheek, you know?” It was as if he was giving a suggestion for dinner, rather than proclaiming his wife should kiss another man.

“I should kiss him?”

“Didn’t you say he never kissed anyone?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Alison agreed. “He died very young and was head over heels for that Isabelle.”

“Just wasn’t part of the culture back then I guess.”

“What? To neck on with anyone you fancy?”

“Exactly, so you should just give him a peck on the cheek under the mistletoe.” Alison pulled a plaid shirt over her pyjamas, wrapping it tightly around herself for warmth, and shot Mike a dubious look. “What’s the harm?”

“What happened to possessive Mike?” Alison teased climbing into bed beside him. She rested her head against his chest and pulled the duvet up to her chin. “The one who nearly got Toby Nightingale killed when he tried to talk to me?”

“Well, it’s not like anything’s going to happen,” Mike explained. “He understands that we’re married... now. And he’s dead. Hardly the romance of the century! It would make his Christmas, surely?”

“You seem to be doing that a lot recently.”  
Mike hummed a questioning tone, prompting her to elaborate. “Trying to improve their Christmases? You wrote to Pat’s family, yeah? And bought them all presents?”

“I suppose so.” Mike snuggled into Alison and kissed her forehead. “Well, I know you find it difficult. And so do they, so as the only one with any kind of festive spirit it’s up to me!”

“Well, thank you, Mike.”

“Just wait until you see what I’ve got tomorrow!”

***

Alison could never sleep on Christmas Eve. When she was a child it was because of the excitement, the curiosity peaked by Santa’s arrival, but now it was self-preservation: the longer she stayed awake the longer it was until Christmas would arrive. 

She padded softly past the bedrooms of her sleeping housemates as she aimlessly wandered the halls of the manor house. As she entered the common room a voice called out to her from the darkness.

“Hello?” Alison froze. “Is someone there?” The voice called. She spun around and finally saw Humphrey’s head lying on top of the piano. A beam of moonlight glistened through the window behind him, giving his decapitated head an ominous silhouette. Humphrey had originally terrified Alison when she had first been discovering his rogue head around the house but now he was one of Alison’s closest friends among the ghosts, not that she’d ever tell Kitty that.

“Did the others leave you here?” Alison asked. She sat down at the piano and leaned forward to rest her cheek against the piano lid to bring herself closer to Humphrey.

“Thomas put me down to catch you under the mistletoe,” Alison rolled her eyes and snorted out a laugh. “That was four hours ago, I’ve been here ever since.”

“Don’t take it personally: Thomas would leave his own limb behind for even a whiff of romance!” They both chuckled. “Do you ever get bored of being left behind, Humphrey?”

“Not really, I’m quite used to it by now,” Alison sighed. Humphrey quickly realised that hadn’t exactly been the answer she was searching for. “You forget that it was just myself and Robin here for a good hundred years until anyone else turned up. As you can imagine, I was left behind quite a bit. Now, I’m included regularly. Especially since you’ve been here!”

“God, every time I think I understand how hard it must be to be dead, I forget you have it way worse.”

“Now now, don’t paint my existence with your existentialist brush,” Humphrey said smiling. “I’m actually rather happy with my life these days. By which I mean my death. Or afterlife. Oh, you get the idea!”

“Yeah, sorry Humphrey,” Alison said. “I will try to encourage the others to include you more. I wish I could do it myself but... can’t touch, can I?” She wiggled her fingers towards him and dropped her head.

“I’d appreciate that, Alison, but don’t go out of your way.” Humphrey smiled. “Although I’d rather like to be around tomorrow, I’m not the biggest Christmas fan but it’s usually fun with this lot!”

“What was Christmas like in your time?” Alison had never shown particular interest in history at school, she’d hardly even listened to her grandfather when he recounted memories from times long past. But, since she’d become unusually acquainted with moments throughout history, she’d found herself enthralled by the way Button House and life within it had grown and changed to today.

“Parties, a lot of them.” Humphrey began. “Most of the twelve-day celebration was spent with other noble families, listening to music, milling around tables heaving with food. I never really enjoyed that part much, a few swigs of mulled wine and a sing-song with friends would’ve seen me happily through to January.”

Alison hummed in agreement and said, “Family Christmas is overrated anyway, friends are where it’s at.”

“You not much of a fan then either?” Humphrey asked.

“Not really, Mike’s begun to infect me with his festive spirit over the years but Christmas will always sting a little for me.” Alison explained.

“You know, you can still acknowledge the past being bad while not letting it affect how you experience the world now.” Alison stared silently at the head beside her. “You can remember all that happened and let yourself sit in the melancholy of it all, or you can remember and make up for the bad times. I’m sure you wouldn’t be the only one in this house to benefit from moving on from the past.” A soft silence fell between the pair as the clock in the hallway struck two.

“How’d you come to be so wise, Humphrey?” Alison whispered.

“Death has its perks.” He whispered back. “You should get some sleep, big Christmas Day tomorrow!”

“Shall I get one of the others to take you to your room?” Alison offered. “I’m sure someone’s still awake?”

“Don’t you worry, I’m perfectly content here.” Alison pushed her wearing body up off the piano and rested her hand over where, if he were alive, she could touch Humphrey’s cheek.

“Thank you.” And with that, she left him lying alone, with nothing but the single beam of moonlight to keep him company.

Within a matter of seconds of Alison leaving, Humphrey heard tiptoes approaching him. Julian had crept into the room, presumably having been listening from nearby. A silent exchange took place between the two men before Julian wordlessly lifted him off the piano and began the journey to Humphrey’s attic bedroom.


	12. Christmas 2020 - Mike Pt.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaaaa,, I’ve been gone for forever. Yes I’m still writing Christmas fic a month later but my life has fallen apart and oh well!!  
> Enjoy,,,, comments are much appreciated!!

“Standby troops,” the Captain was holding his stick in front of his fellow ghosts outside Mike and Alison’s bedroom. The clock outside the bedroom ticked loudly in the silent early morning atmosphere of Button House before finally striking 7:00. 

The previous evening, Alison had strictly explained that they weren’t allowed to wake her before seven, so the group had congregated outside her bedroom like children in constant need of attention. 

The clock chimed and the Captain shouted, “Five, four, three, two, one. Over the top, soldiers!” He lifted his stick and allowed ghosts to pour through the door.

An hour or so later, Mike was sat cross-legged on the floor spinning the Twister board and calling out instructions to the empty Twister mat before him. In between moves, he was watching enthralled by the plastic balls of a child’s pinball machine rattling around the casing with chaotic abandon. Beside him, Julian groaned and strained at the machine as the red and yellow lights flashed wildly.

“Right-foot green- Oh go on, Julian!” Mike yelled in encouragement. While Julian shrieked with effort, struggling at the controls, Thomas lifted his leg with a flourish and tried to slide it under Pat, administering a quick kick to the scoutmaster’s side.

“Stop cheating, Thomas!” Pat scolded.

“What a preposterous accusation!” Thomas cried, gesticulating wildly with his only remaining free hand. His hand very nearly swiped Lady Button across the middle. So far she had only had to move her feet, performing a rather stilted waltz around the coloured mat.

“Ooh, you really be entangled now,” Mary cooed at the group. Pat shot her an incredulous look. He was bent double over Thomas’ legs with his head dangling forward between his arm, the blood rushing to his cheeks had already turned him an alarming shade of scarlet.

“Do you think so?” Pat asked sarcastically.

“Next spin, Mike,” Alison said in the hope to stop any further arguments. She flipped another page of the Captain’s book. ‘A Visual History of WWII’ was enthralling to the Captain, he had spent much of the morning pointing at photos with wonderment. 

“It’s simply wonderful! Look at the detail, it’s like actually being in France!” He had exclaimed at every turn of the pages, but now he sat cross-legged on the floor beside Alison quietly running his ghostly fingers across the glossy photos of life on the front. 

While turning the pages for the Captain, Alison had also taken up control of Humphrey’s present: a remote control car. She, like most of the ghosts, was confused when Mike had pulled it from the Santa sack but, as soon as Julian had placed Humphrey on the car, she’d realised the purpose of the gift. 

“Well, now you don’t have to rely on one of these lot to carry you around,” Mike had told Humphrey. “Cause, no offence guys, but I think myself and Ally are much more reliable.”

While Alison now had control of Humphrey and was relishing the fact she always knew where he was, Mike had initially become overexcited speeding Humphrey around the house on the car. Alison had taken it from him after he’d tried to jump the stairs and Humphrey had flown out of the second-floor window.

Meanwhile, the Twister arrow flew wildly around the coloured board when Mike flicked it, not lifting his gaze from Julian’s game.

“Left-hand red, Lady Button,” Mike called out.

“A lady would never bend that way!” Fanny grimaced.

“Oh gets on with it!” Mary said.

“Come on, Julian! Aim more to the left!” Mike shouted with vigour.

“Yes, I’m trying!”

“Go, Julian!” Robin joined in, jumping up and down beside the game. After the initial excitement of Alison setting up his brand new telescope in the common room window, he’d been deflated to realise he could only use it at night and instead took up the role of cheerleading for Julian’s game.

“Nearly a high score!” Mike shouted.

“Ooh, I believe in you, Julian,” Humphrey said smiling. The little red numbers on the screen ticked up as Julian played, until a triumphant tune rung out from the machine. All three men jumped up in celebration turning heads from around the room. Mike held out his hand for Julian to high five, only pointing slightly out of line with the invisible MP. Julian gagged as his hand passed through Mike’s.

***

“You should be wearing another layer,” Fanny reprimanded Alison and gestured to her outfit of jeans and an oversized jumper.

“I’ll be alright, we’ll only be out for a minute,” Alison said.

“You really should be,” Mary mothered. “You shall freeze!” They had both been fussing around Alison as she got ready to go out into the snow with Mike.

“If I put on a coat, would you both shut up?” Alison reached up and took her thick yellow coat off the rack, wrapping it quickly around her and shooting a pointed look at the two ghosts.

“Yes, that be better,” Mary nodded.

“Ready, Ally!” Mike called through the door which she swiftly opened, allowing the ghosts to traipse through into the snow. “Ta-da!” He motioned towards a large tree in the front garden where a wooden swing was swaying in the cold winter breeze.

“And that’s for me?” Kitty exclaimed.

“For Kitty?” Alison translated to Mike.

“Yeah! Cause you said she used to have a rope swing when she was little?” Mike recalled. Alison never ceased to be impressed by how much attention her husband paid to the ghosts despite not being able to interact with them. “I really hope she can use it though, I’ll get her something else if it's too difficult.”

“Push me, Alison!” Kitty took a seat on the swing and watched Alison’s apprehension as she approached. She carefully took hold of the ropes and pulled backward, bringing Kitty with her. Letting go, Kitty flew forwards having to maintain her balance without being able to hold on. 

Mike spent his time carefully building a snowman almost as tall as him, with the Captain and Pat relaying instructions over his shoulders. The Captain used his skills in mathematics and physics to argue for the perfect angle of the snowballs, Pat instead relied on his skills as a father to argue it was all about the fun. They seemed to have a system worked out between the two of them. 

Kitty had allowed the other ghosts a turn with her present and all had managed to maintain their balance with Alison’s very cautious pushing. All apart from Robin that is, who had got over-excited and demanded Alison push him faster and faster until he finally tumbled into the snow, not leaving a mark in the pristine scenery. Julian, however, had been denied more than a single push when his upward movement had put far more on display than any of the ghosts were willing to see.

***

“Brill,” Mike said pushing himself up from the floor and padding over to switch off the light. “You reckon they’ll like it?”

“The 1960s one was tosh. I always hated it,” Julian interjected.

“Only cause you saw a bit of yourself in the Grinch!” Alison grinned. “Shift over Mary.” Mary gathered up her skirt and shuffled closer to the arm of the sofa. The wooden donkey of the Nativity set Mike had got her was stood facing the TV on the sofa’s arm after she had requested Alison practically carry it around with them for the day.

“It’s not just about you, Julian,” Kitty said with her usual optimism. “I think I’m going to enjoy it.” She grinned up at Alison from her position cross-legged on the floor.

“Where am I sitting?” Mike stood between Alison and the TV blaring the opening music to How The Grinch Stole Christmas, in front of the sofa that he (correctly) assumed would be covered in lounging ghosts. Alison patted the now empty space beside her.

“I loved the original,” Pat contributed, blinking and adjusting his glasses. “We used to curl up every Christmas Eve and have a movie marathon. Daley was usually asleep on my lap before the Grinch even made it to Whoville, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.”

“Is it a children’s story, Alison?” Fanny asked.

“Yeah, I guess. But it’s really good and you should-“ Alison started.

“No, no. As long as the others enjoy it, I’m happy to watch.” Silence fell across the room as all eyes settled on Fanny, apart from Mike who was still trying to piece the conversation together from the snippets he could gather from Alison. “Oh, don’t look so surprised!” Fanny said pursing her lips and turning back to the screen.

“Are we all ready?” Mike asked to thin air before pressing play and settling back into the sofa. Mike had been in his early teens when the film was released but it had quickly become his favourite Christmas tradition. He pulled Alison close to him and kissed her on the top of her head.

“I hope Christmas was good for you this year, Ally,” Mike whispered into her hair. Alison lifted her head from Mike’s chest to meet his eye as the opening music began to play. “I know it wasn’t anything special but, you know, I just hope it was-“ He was cut off by Alison taking his cheek and pressing a soft kiss to his skin.

“It was wonderful,” she whispered with a soft smile. A series of agreements resonated through the quiet room.

“I had the best day!”

“Me too.”

“Many thank you’s again for the present, Michael.”

“It was… passable if domesticity thick enough to clog your veins is your kind of thing.”

Alison giggled at Julian’s thinly veiled approval of the day. He was lounging back in the armchair with one leg crossed over the other, barely preserving his modesty as usual.

“And they think so too,” Alison mumbled, glancing around the room. She caught the gaze of Thomas, who was practically lying along the back of the sofa his eyes fixed on the back of Alison’s head. Mike’s suggestion from the previous night echoed through Alison’s head: ‘you should just kiss him, what harm could it do?’

Sighing, Alison twisted fully around in her seat to come face to face with the poet.

“Thomas,” she whispered. “Come here.” She leaned forwards slightly but let Thomas close the gap, she didn’t want to be too forceful knowing that, if she made too much contact, it might make the ghost nauseous.

“Fair Alison, are you quite sure you-“

“It’s Christmas like you said.” It felt just as Alison had expected: like nothing. In fact, she was sure Thomas’ ghostly lips hadn’t even touched hers, she wasn’t sure they even could, but the smile on Thomas’ face when she pulled back was worth anything.

“My Alison, thy lips are sweet as honey and yet bitter with-“

“Thomas,” Alison warned. “Don’t push your luck. Just this once, understand?”

“I completely understand, and shall respect you’re every wish.”

Alison snuggled back into Mike’s chest after acknowledging the approving smile her husband shot her.

***

“Solve world hunger. Tell no one.” The Grinch said on screen. A low rumble of laughter rippled through the room as even those ghosts most out of touch with the modern world found enjoyment in the film. Alison paid close attention to their reactions and her heart couldn’t help but swell at their soft smiles, illuminated by the TV.

Alison’s attention was grabbed by a slight movement behind her. It was, of course, the Captain who, during most of their movie nights, stood distant and isolated behind the sofa. With his ramrod straight posture and militant gaze, he lurked back in the shadows keeping a watchful eye over the ghosts while never joining the found-family experience the others held so close.

Alison watched as tonight he crept forward, slinking around the sofa with the characteristic floating silence of the undead. The Captain lowered himself slowly to sit on the floor beside Kitty who, upon hearing the creaking of the Captain’s joints, placed a gentle arm around his back and helped in his effort to sit down. Once the Captain was on the ground, he leant back against the sofa and placed his stick across his stiff legs.

“Thank you, Katherine,” he mumbled. The exchange did not go unnoticed by Alison who was overcome with a swell of pride. Kitty’s kind-hearted nature was appreciated, and the Captain’s walls were beginning to crumble. Alison’s mind began to fill with fog and her eyelids began to droop as she finally gave in to sleep.


End file.
